The man who lives downstairs is gay, which I don't care about, but he has an 18 year-old daughter who has the whole affectation of, "Oh hasn't the world shit on me, I have a gay dad." She probably weighs 90 pounds, has dyed black hair with white stripes through it, wears more eyemakeup than a common whore, constantly has a cigarette in hand, and has never smiled, even once, the entire two years I've lived here, let alone say hello. She has a boyfriend (imagine the kind of guy a girl like this would date), and I'm not sure if they live downstairs together with the gay dad, or what, but they are pretty much always together, yet constantly fighting.
One morning before I leave for school with my roommates, I notice an incredibly large, ostentatious, new red truck sitting in the driveway next to my car. We make some remarks like, isn't this a stupid car to drive in the city, and then leave for school.
When we home from school eight hours later, we pull into the driveway, and the boyfriend walks out of the house and starts yelling at me. "Did you scratch my truck?" he demands to know. Sure enough, down the entire length of the truck is long, blue scratch mark, in some places to scratch marks. I was at school all day, and I definitely had not scratched the damn thing when I pulled out of the driveway that morning. Plus, my car is green. I try to act sympathetic dispite the fact that he was accusing me right there.
I go up to my apartment and look out the window into the driveway, and he, the crackhead girl, and a friend are all croached down around my car, measuring the distance from my side mirror to the ground, measuring the distance from my car to the truck, etc. It really pissed me off that now they were messing around with my car.
I went back downstairs and said to them, "Hey, do you want to talk about this some more?" I explained to them again that I was gone all day, and the scratches weren't there when I left at 7:30 in the morning. I also explained that the scratches when much farther up the side of the car than I ever park, and that the dent in the fender they were pointing at would have been physically impossible for my car to cause. They still didn't believe me. They pointed at a tiny, microscopic fleck of red in my side mirror and told me I did it. Considering the scratch down the side of the enormous truck, it was clearly circumstantial and didn't match up with the damage at all. Plus, I explained, my roommates were with me. We are all honest, hard working people. We would tell the truth if we had done it.
I went back upsairs and they left with the truck. I went back downstairs to take pictures of my car in case they decided to retaliate somehow, and there was a huge loogy on my rear window. Yup, they spat on my car.
I was so upset that they didn't believe me, when they got back my roommate went down stairs to try to smooth things over, but ended up getting in a yelling match and having the door slammed in her face.
My car has been egged twice since then. I'm not saying that they did it, but who else would except childish, ridiculous, whiny children who hate the world.
One morning before I leave for school with my roommates, I notice an incredibly large, ostentatious, new red truck sitting in the driveway next to my car. We make some remarks like, isn't this a stupid car to drive in the city, and then leave for school.
When we home from school eight hours later, we pull into the driveway, and the boyfriend walks out of the house and starts yelling at me. "Did you scratch my truck?" he demands to know. Sure enough, down the entire length of the truck is long, blue scratch mark, in some places to scratch marks. I was at school all day, and I definitely had not scratched the damn thing when I pulled out of the driveway that morning. Plus, my car is green. I try to act sympathetic dispite the fact that he was accusing me right there.
I go up to my apartment and look out the window into the driveway, and he, the crackhead girl, and a friend are all croached down around my car, measuring the distance from my side mirror to the ground, measuring the distance from my car to the truck, etc. It really pissed me off that now they were messing around with my car.
I went back downstairs and said to them, "Hey, do you want to talk about this some more?" I explained to them again that I was gone all day, and the scratches weren't there when I left at 7:30 in the morning. I also explained that the scratches when much farther up the side of the car than I ever park, and that the dent in the fender they were pointing at would have been physically impossible for my car to cause. They still didn't believe me. They pointed at a tiny, microscopic fleck of red in my side mirror and told me I did it. Considering the scratch down the side of the enormous truck, it was clearly circumstantial and didn't match up with the damage at all. Plus, I explained, my roommates were with me. We are all honest, hard working people. We would tell the truth if we had done it.
I went back upsairs and they left with the truck. I went back downstairs to take pictures of my car in case they decided to retaliate somehow, and there was a huge loogy on my rear window. Yup, they spat on my car.
I was so upset that they didn't believe me, when they got back my roommate went down stairs to try to smooth things over, but ended up getting in a yelling match and having the door slammed in her face.
My car has been egged twice since then. I'm not saying that they did it, but who else would except childish, ridiculous, whiny children who hate the world.
